


i'm here with you

by nott_the_best1



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Fluff with a little bit of angst, M/M, lucie and cordelia taking advantage of the fact that thomastair is gay and oblivious, prompt, there's only one bed, thomastair being gay and oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28586883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nott_the_best1/pseuds/nott_the_best1
Summary: “You’re in luck!” the innkeeper declared. “There are four rooms left.”“Thank you, sir,” James responded without question. Four rooms, eight people. “We’ll take them.” James paid the gentlemen and turned to his friends.Lucie pouted. “I suppose that means Daisy and I can’t share a room.”prompt: thomastair, "there's only one bed"
Relationships: Alastair Carstairs/Thomas Lightwood
Comments: 5
Kudos: 133





	i'm here with you

**Author's Note:**

> please read the end notes after for a couple of disclaimers! enjoy!
> 
> prompt from @dianasarrow on Tumblr

“You’re in luck!” the innkeeper declared. “There are four rooms left.” 

“Thank you, sir,” James responded without question. Four rooms, eight people. “We’ll take them.” James paid the gentlemen and turned to his friends. 

Lucie pouted. “I suppose that means Daisy and I can’t share a room.” 

It was a trying journey, dragging a group of eight along into rural England, but they needed to find the portal that continued to allow Belial a connection to this realm, and their only leads were here. It was the sole way to stop Belial for good. It began as just the Merry Thieves, of course, but then Lucie and Cordelia caught wind of it, and they couldn’t refuse. From there, it was Alastair, who refused to allow his sister to go without him, despite the animosity that still sat between him and the other boys, and Jesse, who insisted that this was the only way to save Grace and free her from Belial’s - and their mother’s - control. As such, the eight of them departed. It might not be ideal to travel with so many people, but it did allow them to split into smaller groups relatively easily - unless, of course, those groups were sharing a room with each other. 

Without Alastair and Jesse, it would be simple: Lucie with Cordelia, James with Matthew, and Thomas with Christopher. However, no one really knew Jesse all that well apart from Lucie, and they certainly didn’t trust Alastair enough to leave Jesse with him for a night. Most logically, the girls would stay with their brothers, but Lucie had been excited about the idea of a ‘sleepover’ with Cordelia all day. The weather was beginning to become treacherous, as it sometimes did during English winters, and they knew they would need to retreat to an inn that evening. 

“Nonsense, Lucie,” Thomas said a little more quickly than seemed logical. “I can stay with Alastair, and I’m sure one of you doesn't mind staying with Jesse.” He eyed his friends. “You two should enjoy yourselves; it’s been a difficult couple of days.” 

Lucie’s eyes lit up eagerly. “Oh, Thomas, are you sure?” 

Matthew’s eyes had darkened and he repeated, “Yeah, Tom, are you sure?” 

Alastair rolled his eyes and ignored the fact that they were solely debating who would have the displeasure of spending the night in the same room as him. 

“I said so, didn’t I?” was Thomas’ reply. 

“I’ll stay with Jesse,” James offered before the discussion could continue into more hurtful territory. 

The innkeeper led them to their rooms, and they settled for the night. 

Alastair gritted his teeth when he saw that instead of two single beds, there was one double. He sighed. “I can go ask for extra blankets; I’ve slept in worse places.”

Thomas paused for a second in confusion. “Don’t be daft, Carstairs, the bed is plenty big enough for the both of us.” He turned his head sideways. “Though it might be a bit short…” 

“You don’t have to-” 

“I said, don’t be silly. We’re here to rest, that’s all.” 

Alastair grunted but didn’t push it further. They continued in relative silence as they took turns changing behind the folding screen and freshening up at the wash bin. Finally comfortable, Alastair settled into the armchair beside the bed with the book he’d brought along and tried to consume himself enough in the reading that he could ignore that just a few feet away from him was the very tall, very muscular, very _attractive_ man who hated him.

It wasn’t working. 

“What are you reading?” 

Alastair bit his lip. He hated when people interrupted him while he was reading, but he supposed he wasn’t really reading at all, just pretending to. The cover of the book was plain, a deep red leather with no writing. Whenever he was around folks who were not his family, he was careful to position himself in a way that no one would be able to see the writing inside - writing that did not use the Roman alphabet. He always felt more comfortable with Thomas, though, for some odd reason. He sighed. “ _Divan-e Shams._ ” He tilted the book towards Thomas so he could see a bit of the Farsi poetry written inside. 

“Would you read some to me? I’ve forgotten my reading material.” 

Alastair flashed him an incredulous look. “What an important thing to forget.” 

“Yes,” Thomas sighed. “I have realized. So… would you?” 

Alastair rolled his eyes and did his best to translate. “ _My desert is without end, my soul, my heart must tear. The world here-”_

“No, no,” Thomas interrupted. “In Persian.” 

Alastair pushed away some of his shock. After all, Cordelia had said that Thomas had been studying the language with Lucie. “Right,” he amended before beginning again. Around the same spot, though, he cut himself off. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“It’s just… it’s meant to be sung. It feels strange saying it.” 

“Sing it, then.” 

Alastair stared at him for a moment. Was this some sort of trick? Was he going to run off to his schoolboy friends the moment he was finished to laugh about what he had done? Was he doing it to get revenge? He pondered all of the possibilities, but his mind rested on just one thought: that perhaps it would be worth it, to play into some cruel trick, if it meant he could say that he’d sung to Thomas Lightwood, even just once. 

“I mean… You don’t have to, but you can. If you wanted,” Thomas said quickly, realizing that he might have made Alastair uncomfortable. 

Alastair cleared his throat and began to sing. He made sure to keep his voice soft and low as he made his way through the ghazal, careful to not allow anyone to hear through the walls. Cordelia would _never_ let him live it down if she heard. He finally looked up at Thomas, who was staring at him intensely. 

“That was beautiful.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Did you understand any of it?” 

Thomas grinned. “Not a word.” 

Alastair chuckled. “That’s alright. _Mevlevi_ \- I believe you folks call him Rumi - was a genius. He crafted phrases in a way… Well, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything else quite like it. He gives new meanings to old words and uses quite a bit of wordplay, speaking of love and loss and longing… I used to think it was a tragedy, truly, that English speakers could not understand, but now… it’s nice. Like a secret only I, and, well, Persia, have access too.” He bit back a smile as he rambled. While the books he had were from his mother, she never had much of an interest in it all, nor Cordelia, so he’d never had anyone to muse about the poet with before.

“I can see why you enjoy it so much. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard something so beautiful before. I didn’t even know you could sing.” 

Alastair felt his brain sputter a bit. He’d become so entranced with the language before him that he’d forgotten that he had just _sung_ it to Thomas. He felt his face flush, and he was grateful that it is difficult to see against his dark complexion. “Oh… It was nothing. I mean, I don’t, really. It’s just something my mum taught me.” 

“It’s incredible,” Thomas said in awe, his face glowing a faint pink. “I, uh, I write songs, you know. I mean, I’ve never told anyone, least of all you, so, you wouldn’t know, but now you do. Just in my head, I mean. Well, sometimes I write them down. I’m not very musically inclined.” His face was growing redder by the second. 

Alastair was careful not to grin too widely. “Sing one, then.” 

“What?” Thomas squeaked. 

“Well, you don’t have to, but you can, if you want to.” 

Thomas threw him a quick glare for repeating his words and then took a deep breath. He was silent for a bit, but then he began to sing, careful not to look towards Alastair. “ _I woke up thinking you were still here, my hands shaking with regret. I've held this dream for such a long, long time, and now I want to wake up to the rhythm of a wild heart that beats, that beats like a drum._

_“Your light, it follows me in darkness. I'm trying hard, but I can't win, and I've played the victim for a long, long time, and I wanna grow up from the rhythm of a younger heart, it leads, just like a river runs._ ” 

Alastair stood from the armchair and moved to where Thomas was sitting on the edge of the bed, placing a gentle hand on his knee. “That’s beautiful, Thomas,” he said softly. “I didn’t… I know I didn’t know her, but I’m sure she’d love it.” 

Thomas turned away from him sharply, his lip trembling and tears beginning to fall down his cheeks. 

Alastair took the other boy’s hand, cupping it firmly between his own, as if just to say, _I’m here with you_. “It’s alright.” 

“No, it’s not,” Thomas said, trying futilely to wipe away his tears. “We were having a moment, and then I ruined it.” 

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he replied gently. “You’re allowed to have feelings, Thomas. You shouldn’t just push them away.”

Thomas scoffed. “What do you suggest I do then? Mask my pain with cruel, horrible lies about those who have done nothing to deserve them like you do?” 

Alastair dropped his hand and stood up, backing away from Thomas. He was silent for a moment. “You’re right. You are. But I’m trying, Thomas, I really am. I don’t want to…” _I don’t want to be my father,_ he wanted to say, but he couldn’t. “I don’t want to be the kind of person who takes my hurt out on others anymore, and I’m trying. I swear it.” 

“I know,” Thomas said softly. He was silent for a moment. “I understand why you did it.” 

Alastair’s jaw tightened reflexively. 

“Matthew said some awful things about… about the way you look, and your father, and… _the incident._ You were in a bad way already.” 

Alastair was speechless. He’d forgotten that Thomas was present for that. He hadn’t shared any of it with Thomas, not his insecurities about his heritage, nor his father, and certainly not the horrible, world-altering guilt over Clive’s death that still sat in the depths of his soul years later. 

“That doesn’t make what you said okay.” 

“It wasn’t.” 

“You weren’t trying to hurt me.” 

“I was not.” 

“You were trying to hurt Matthew.” 

He sighed. “I was.” 

“And you did.” 

“I did.” 

“And perhaps he deserved some of it.” 

“Not what I did, though.” 

“No, not what you did.” 

“I took it too far.” 

“You did.” 

“I know. I’ve known since the moment I said it. I’ve _regretted_ it since the moment I said it.” 

“I know.”

“I don’t think that it’s something that can be fixed, though.” 

“With Matthew? Maybe not.” 

“What about with you?” 

“There’s nothing to fix, Alastair.”

“I thought you hated me.” 

“I _wanted_ to hate you because you hurt Matthew. But… I think the world is just a little more complicated than I’d like it to be.” 

Alastair sat back down on the bed, though farther from Thomas this time.

“Is that… Is that why you dyed your hair? Because of the things he said?”

Alastair attempted to hide the way he physically flinched. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve-” 

“Do you think he’s the only one?” he interrupted. “Do you think I haven’t been laughed at or ridiculed or worse, suspected to be dangerous or a thief, my entire life just because of how dark my hair and eyes and skin are?” 

“I’m sorry,” was all Thomas could find to say. “Matthew still shouldn’t’ve said those things. I’m sorry I never stopped him.” 

He’d left Alastair speechless yet again. The thought had never crossed his mind before, or perhaps it had, that Thomas could have ever spoken to Matthew about the kinds of comments he made on Alastair’s appearance. Though, the longer he pondered the idea, the more he wondered if he _had_ held some sort of small resentment because of it, and never realized. “That wasn’t your responsibility.” 

“Perhaps not, but I could have tried.” 

He stared at him for a moment. Never in his life had felt so _seen_ , so _understood_. In fact, he had many carefully built walls to protect against just that. “How do you _do_ that?” 

“Do what?” 

“How do you… just _know_ everything?” 

Thomas half-rolled his eyes. “I don’t _know_ everything. I just _watch_ , and I _observe_ , and I try, somehow, to _understand_. You’re not as complicated as you wish you were, you know.” 

He had a startling thought as he wondered whether _anyone_ had ever watched him as closely as Thomas had. “Cordelia would disagree with you.” 

“Hm, I just might have to share with her the secret to you, then.” 

Alastair glared at him, but he was grinning now. “Don’t you dare.” 

“For the record, you know… I prefer dark features. Personally, I mean.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes, I’m sure there were _many_ striking dark-haired women back in Madrid.” 

“Hm,” Thomas pondered in an exaggerated way. “I don’t know… Though, there was certainly an attractive dark-haired _someone_ that I met when I visited Paris.” 

“Well, I would hope so,” Alastair deadpanned. “Because according to you, we just shared a _moment._ ”

Thomas cringed. “I had hoped you’d forgotten I’d said that.” 

“Me? _Never._ ” 

“Does this… Does this mean we’re okay now?” Thomas was slow and cautious as he spoke. 

“Yes, I think it does.” 

He breathed a sigh of relief. 

“I could help you, you know, with your songs, if you wanted, once we return to London. With that one, or others. I can play the piano.” 

Thomas narrowed his eyes. “You can play the piano?” 

Alastair shrugged. “Well, I used to, but I haven’t in a while.” 

“Why did you stop?” 

He bit his cheek as he thought. This was where he should say he grew bored of it, that it simply no longer interested him, or perhaps suggest that they should go to sleep, as they were both dreadfully tired, or even whip out a line cutting and cruel. He had meant what he’d said to Thomas, though, that he no longer wanted to be so heartless and closed off. “I don’t know… I used to play a lot with my mother when I was young. Then, life got too busy… I’d still play, but usually when my parents were fighting or when something was happening that I didn’t want Cordelia to overhear. I could just… start playing and everything else would just melt away. After a while, though, it was just hard to play without thinking about all of the bad memories.” 

There was more he wished to say, about how when he returned from the Academy he believed himself to be too corrupted and too broken to deserve to create anything beautiful, but this was a start. 

“I wouldn’t wish to remind you of any bad memories.” 

“Perhaps we could create some good memories, then.” 

“I… I’d like that.” 

“We should… we should probably sleep. It’s gotten late, and we’re sure to be running around all day tomorrow.” 

Thomas nodded, and they both climbed into opposite sides of a bed that once seemed far too small, but now, too wide. 

The exhaustion of the day finally creeping up on him, Alastair fell asleep almost instantly. 

When he woke, he found himself face first into Thomas’ night shirt. 

His head rested against Thomas’ chest, Thomas’ arm around his torso, their legs intertwined. He stared for a moment into the white of Thomas’ shirt, not daring to move. Should he? They’d flirted a bit the night before, but they were hardly even friends at this point. Was this too much, too far? The other boy seemed to be sleeping soundly, though, and from the sound of Thomas’ song and the circles he’d noticed under his eyes the past few months, he suspected that sound sleep might not be coming so easily to him nowadays. Therefore, the best thing would be not to move and risk startling Thomas from his rest. Besides, the room was quite chilly, and they could use each other’s warmth. 

Content with his decision to not move away from Thomas’ embrace, he allowed himself to fall back into a light, peaceful slumber, however long it would last. 

It lasted, he would learn, until his little sister began banging on their door. 

“Booooys,” she called. “Are you decent?” 

Alastair shot out of Thomas’ arms and fell onto the floor. He quickly straightened himself and hurried over to open it. “What do you want, Cordelia?” 

She grinned. “I just came to tell you that Lucie and I are eating breakfast downstairs. You should get ready.” 

“You could have said that through the door.” 

“I know,” she smirked. 

She started down the hall, and he closed the door, silently groaning. 

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asked. 

“She’s up to something,” he answered. “We never should have left her and Lucie alone together. They probably spent all night scheming.” 

“Perhaps so,” he laughed. “Only one way to find out, though.” 

Alastair sighed. “You’re right. Okay, I’ll get ready quickly and go down, and then in five, maybe ten minutes, you can follow.” 

Thomas gave him an odd look, but didn’t fight it. “Alright.” 

A few minutes later, he joined Lucie and Cordelia downstairs. Unsurprisingly, Lucie had her notebook and was scribbling away while Cordelia nursed a cup of tea. A cup of black coffee sat in front of the seat he was meant to sit in. He loathed English tea, compared to Persian tea it was nothing more than hot water. None of the other boys had come down yet. 

“Alastair!” Lucie exclaimed when she noticed him. “Did you enjoy your night with _Thomas_?” 

Cordelia giggled. 

“I… We slept, if that’s what you are asking. That is what we were meant to do here, at an inn, wasn’t it?” 

Cordelia raised an eyebrow. “Well, it was most peculiar, when I went to request an extra blanket last night, well, it certainly was not _sleeping_ I heard from the hallway…” 

“Cordelia, you _didn’t_ -” 

“I did.” 

“You heard Alastair _singing_ -” 

“He was. In Persian.” 

“In Persian,” Lucie said the words succinctly with no expression on her face, as if she was laying out a fact during a murder trial. 

Once again, Alastair was grateful that no one could see him blush. “Did you two actually get any rest last night or did you just spend it gossiping about me?” 

“Not just you,” Lucie replied. “You and _Thomas_.” 

“Why do you keep saying his name like that?” 

“You’re welcome, you know,” Cordelia declared smugly. 

Alastair let out an exasperated sigh. “What?” 

“It was all part of the plan, Alastair,” Lucie answered. 

“It was quite brilliant, actually,” Cordelia supplied. “It was all Lucie’s idea. She knew that if we were to stay at an inn, Thomas would jump at the chance to spend a night with you.” 

“And he did, as expected, without hesitation,” Lucie confirmed. 

“The only issue, of course, being me, because we’d be far too obvious a pair for him to try to argue against.” Lucie nodded along to Cordelia’s explanation. “So, Lucie spent all day musing about how much she’d love to spend the night with me, just in case the opportunity arose.” 

“And it did!” Lucie squealed. 

“She’s been planning this since the engagement party,” Cordelia finished. 

“The _engagement party_?” he responded incredulously. “That was ages ago!” 

“And it has finally come to fruition, has it not?” Lucie babbled excitedly. 

He didn’t give her the dignity of replying. “I only have one question, though - how did you know there would only be one bed?” 

Lucie’s eyes widened. “ _There was only one bed!_ ” she squealed as she began furiously scribbling into her notebook once again. 

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMERS: I don’t speak Farsi and the translation that Alastair makes is actually from this document: http://www.bahaistudies.net/asma/divaneshams.pdf. It’s the poem on page 9 and 10 if you want to check it out! 
> 
> Also, the song that Thomas sings isn’t mine, it’s adapted from “Like A River Runs” by the Bleachers. I tried to write something, but I’ve never experienced what Thomas has, and it’s a very beautiful song written about the loss of Jack Antonoff’s sister. You should listen to it! Though, I imagine Thomas’ version to be a bit less upbeat. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! come say hi on tumblr @nott-the-best


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